Sevastyan

The movie ended. Rei turned around on his knees and leaned against Sevastyan’s knee. “May I be excused, Master?”

“Toilet?” Sevastyan said.

“Yes, master.”

Sevastyan ran his hands through Rei’s hair. It was getting long. He should cut it soon, or decide to let it grow out.

“Go ahead and shower now,” Sevastyan murmured. “Take your time, do everything.”

“Yes, Master.”

Sevastyan drew Rei up, caressing his face. “Beautiful.”

Rei leaned into the touch. He appeared more grounded than before.

The food and the movie had been the right choice.

Some of the life that going out had brought to Rei’s eyes had returned since finding Lisa in the bathroom.

Sevastyan pressed a kiss to Rei’s cheek and let him go.

Rei glided away, slender legs moving like the dancer he was over the carpet and wood floors into the bedroom.

Lisa stayed where he was on the floor, still facing the TV.

Sevastyan sipped cordial from his wineglass and waited.

The other man was close. His body had moved nearer and nearer to Sevastyan’s throughout the evening.

The tightness in Lisa’s form had gradually faded during the film.

It was back now, returning as soon as Rei disappeared.

Sevastyan lowered the base of his glass to his leg and waited. Now and then he took another sip. Lisa was as skittish as his namesake, the fox. Now and then he was so still he could not be breathing, and then he would draw in air again.

When the slave moved, it was sudden. He turned, landing on his knees between Sevastyan’s feet, his hands gripping the couch cushion between Sevastyan’s thighs. He bent his head, forehead against his hands, showing Sevastyan the back of his neck.

Sevastyan gave Lisa a heartbeat, then two. He leaned forward and set his wineglass on the table. Then he settled his hand on the back of Lisa’s neck, giving it weight but nothing else.

Lisa shuddered. He moved, adjusting his knees, gripping and releasing the cushion of the coach so that the fabric pulled back and forth beneath Sevastyan’s thighs.

His breath stuttered and caught. Sevastyan let his own breath come slow and even.

Lisa’s shoulders shook, the muscles over his back tightening and releasing.

He was crying.

Sevastyan threaded the fingers of his other hand through Lisa’s hair, his elbows resting on his knees. He stroked the other man’s scalp slowly, never raising the hand on the back of Lisa’s neck.

The water in the shower in the other room started to run.

Lisa turned his head to the side. “I hate myself.”

Sevastyan’s fingers tightened, gripping Lisa’s hair. They both stilled. Now and then Lisa drew in a shattered breath, breathing through the tears.

“I hate that I want this. I hate that I’m letting you touch me. I hate that I need you to.”

Sevastyan released his fingers, going back to stroking. He drew his knees in, holding Lisa’s too thin form upright, protecting him. Lisa released the couch cushion with one hand and gripped at Sevastyan’s pant leg.

A dark crack ran through Sevastyan’s chest.

There was no physical wound, no reason his sternum should feel marked as if hit with a battle ax and yet the pain was still there.

He had been no different from Lisa, clinging to something that hurt him, except Anton and Raska had been less honest than Alexi and the slave masters that had ruined Lisa’s existence.

Lisa was a Pre-Raphaelite painting, beautiful even as he lay dying, every tear not a mere incident of happenstance but an essay on living. In his destruction, he was choosing beauty, choosing connection, loving Rei with the last of his air. Even choosing the facade of Sevastyan’s benevolence.

“You’re like Alexi,” Lisa whispered. “You’re right and you’re also wrong. You give and yet I know you’re going to take away. You’re going to make me love you because it hurts too much to not love you. Because not loving you is too confusing.

Because it hurts inside my head when you show me kindness and I have to remember you’re a demon. I want to forget you’re wrong. I want to believe it will be like this forever, the three of us: the benevolent king, his knight, and his angel.”

Lisa buried his face against the couch again, his body shaking. Tears gathered in Sevastyan’s eyes. He blinked them away. He couldn’t let them fall, couldn’t let Lisa see.

Lisa lifted his head, still not looking at Sevastyan directly, not trying to get away from the hand on the back of his neck. “You win. You can have me.”

Sevastyan hauled Lisa off the floor and into his lap, wrapping his arms around the other man, crushing him against his chest.

He tucked Lisa’s head against his neck and shoulder, holding him in place so he couldn’t see Sevastyan’s face.

He couldn’t speak because his throat was thick with everything that couldn’t be said.

Lisa curled up small against Sevastyan chest, too small for a man of his size. By degrees, his body loosened, held in place only by Sevastyan’s grip. His head slipped down Sevastyan’s shoulder.

He was asleep.

Sevastyan cradled him, staring at the nothingness on the TV.